Sadistic Clowns are Bad for Your Health
by Miz. Jynx
Summary: He wakes up as Bruce Wayne. Alone, in pain, and strapped to a table. The Joker doesn't plan, but he has ideas. Horribly painful ideas, and the Joker hopes to try them all out before he breaks his new toy.
1. Dirty Window

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Joker or any of the characters in The Dark Knight. But I do own the plot in this story, SO DON'T STEAL IT!**

**Warnings: Profanity, blood, and spandex. **

_Thoughts/Flashback_

**Emphasis/Title**

"Talking"

**Sadistic Clowns are Bad for Your Health**

A tortured wail filled the streets, piercing the night air. People wandering the streets halted their lives for but a moment, an uneasy feeling about them. They subconsciously quickened their pace, trying to head away from the cry, despite not knowing where it came from.

A second shriek erupted from the narrows, clashing against his ear drums. He shifted his wait to his right, aiming in its direction. A low growl emitted from the black clad figure, whom of which was currently gliding through the air.

Slowly he descended onto the rusted roof of a warehouse and made his way over to a filthy pane of glass, a useless and cracked window. Oddly enough, it was open just wide enough to allow entrance.

Pushing paranoid thoughts aside, the masked vigilante climbed down onto a horizontal support beam below, stared past the dim lights and down to the floor.

Dark globs of something-or-other stuck to his cape and something was dripping from the higher of the beams. Assuming it was water, the shrouded man went on with his inspection.

The walls of the warehouse were layered with chipping paint and some type of moss. The place was cluttered with junk medal and the smashed remains of what seemed to be… "bones?" "What the hell?" he muttered.

A sinister voice rang out, echoing on the rusted walls. "Well, it seems you've found my hidey hole!"

"Jo-!" he had no chance to finish as the support beam he was crouching on suddenly gave a teeth grinding screech, and collapsed. It sent him plummeting to the ground with tons of heavy rusted steel rushing after him.

****

* * *

He woke up confused and in a daze, unaware he had even blacked out. He went to rub his eyes only to find his arms and hands strapped down on either side of him. He tried to move his legs but found they were restrained as well. Panic started to rise in him, even more so when he looked at his legs once more.

__

Bare.

His legs were bare!

He eyed his torso and arms again but was greeted with pale flesh instead of the usual black Kevlar. A lump rose in his throat. He groaned as a previously unnoticeable throbbing became stronger with every heartbeat. His head was pounding worse than any hangover he's ever experienced. Not that he Drank a lot.

Realization dawned on him. His mask! He wiggled his nose to find the cowl still in place. He sighed in relief.

"And I thought bats were nocturnal." the voice made him cringe. _Gah! So loud! _"Joker?" he half growled half mumbled.

"Oh so your awake now?"

The Bat attempted to restrain another uncharacteristic moan but failed in near misery. Every word was like someone drilling into his skull with a spoon.

"Ohh what's wrong batsy? Headache? Well I'd expect as much. You took quite a fall. HAHAHAHA!"

Suddenly the nights events came flooding back to him. The screams, the ware house, the bones, the fall and most of all the searing pain in his skull and cracking noise of steel meeting the hardened rubber of his cowl. Batman choked a sigh as searing pain emitted from what felt like a huge gash in the side of his head.

"Aha oho ha-ha ha! Mpph, ha-ha! Ahem," the insane clown finished his giggle fit and cleared his throat. "It wont be any fun if your distracted by that nasty headache and this will take a lot longer if your ah, mas**k**," he clicked his tongue. "is in the way. Lets fix that…"

Before the bat could protest, he felt the sharp pain of a needle being rudely stabbed

into the exposed part of his neck. A cool liquid spread through out his body calming him and slowed his breathing.

The last thing he remembered was the Joker slipping his cold gloved hand under his mask, tugging upward; the sinisterly painted face of a clown laughing down on him before slipping into unconsciousness.

****

Authors Notes

Tell me what you think and be honest. Flamers will be used to set fortune cookies on fire. These will get longer and way more bloody.

R&R PLEASE!

Love and Straightjackets,

Miz. Jynx

Chapter 1 *Revised*


	2. Nipple Needle!

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Joker or any of the characters in The Dark Knight. But I do own the plot in this story, SO DON'T STEAL IT!**

_Thoughts/Flashback_

**Emphasis/Title**

"Talking"

* * *

**PREVIOUSLY**

_~"Aha oho ha-ha ha! Mpph, ha-ha! Ahem," the insane clown finished his giggle fit and cleared his throat. "It wont be any fun if your distracted by that nasty headache and this will take a lot longer if your ah, mas__**k**__," he clicked his tongue. "is in the way. Lets fix that…"_

_Before the bat could protest, he felt the sharp pain of a needle being rudely stabbed_

_into the exposed part of his neck. A cool liquid spread through out his body calming him and slowed his breathing._

_The last thing he remembered was the Joker slipping his cold gloved hand under his mask, tugging upward; the sinisterly painted face of a clown laughing down on him before slipping into unconsciousness.~_

* * *

**CHAPTER 2**

The fuzziness was back.

This time though the victimized man was fully aware of the situation at hand, and really wishing he wasn't.

He was still strapped down, that much was clear. Concentrating, he tried to grasp what exactly happened before he blacked out.

His mind was foggy, as if he was waking up after a surgery at the hospital.

_Oh god my head hurts like hell! Okay, okay, lets see. Can't move. Figures as much. Joker… Joker stabbed me! No wait, not stab, inject. He injected me with something. Poison?_

He immediately ruled that one out.

_No, a guy like the Joker would want to have some fun before getting rid of his 'toy'. A tranquilizer, maybe a sedative? In high doses those can induce unconsciousness. _

His thoughts were interrupted by a low humming and the screeching of medal on medal. Something prodded at his exposed chest. It was flat and round and cold as ice.

* * *

**Bruce's POV, first person**

Groggily, I opened one eye only to shut it immediately afterwards. _Shit that light. Its like having a staring contest with the freakin' sun!_

"Wakey wakey, brucey." a calm yet cold voice cooed.

Being much more careful this time, I opened my eyes yet again. Soon wishing I hadn't.

There, no more than a few inches away, was the Joker clad in a nurses outfit with a scalpel and stethoscope at the ready.

Of all the words I could of used to at that very moment, _disgusting, insane, fag, freak, crazy. _I only managed to get one word out.

"Ew…"

Well, less than a word.

"What? Don't you like it? Well maybe if ya got a better view."

The hard table-like surface I was strapped to suddenly surged upward, rotating from the middle at a 45 degree angle so that I was still laying down but my center of gravity was located closer to my feet.

For the first time since I arrived at the warehouse I was able to get a good look at my surroundings.

I was not in the huge main storage room I had though to be. No, this was a slightly smaller room but still large enough that it would take a good thirty seconds or so to get to the door from my place in the center of the room.

As guessed I was indeed on some sort of rotating table. It was made of hard steel and shared a startling resemblance to the surgical table were Mary Shelley's Frankenstein was created. There was little light in the room, the source of which was a large bulb hanging loosely from the high ceiling.

I shifted to try and look around the left side of the room when a startlingly thin body obscured his vision.

"So, what do you think? I thought it, ah, **appropriate** for a our little game." He said muffling a giggle.

"LET ME GO YOU SICKO!"

"Ah ah ahh." He wagged his finger. "You **didn't answer** my question." The clown was dead serious.

It was amazingly unnerving how the lunatic could go from complete insane laughter to if-you-don't-answer-me-I'll-rip-your-eye-out serious. _He probably would rip one out. _I shuddered at the thought.

I decided it was best to answer seeing as the clown had the upper hand. But that didn't mean I had to be nice about it.

"You look like a **fucking insane fag!**" I spat.

In an instant the Joker had my chin in an unwavering hold, the scalpel hovering just Millimeters away from my left eye.

My breath unintentionally hitched. _Oh SHIT! _

"I'm sorry I didn't qui**t**e catch tha**t**." The Joker growled out.

It took all of my self control to not repeat what I said moments ago and decided to steal a line from a fashion show I once saw on WE during a rainy day.

"I said that you look absolutely **stunning** in that outfit." My words were basted in sarcasm.

The Joker grunted approval and removed himself in favor of a table of sinister looking surgical tools located on a table to my left.

I shivered and averted my gaze to the wall on the right. My eyes widened in sickened shock, the walls all to the right of me were covered in every sharp thing you could think of. From Alamo knives to pocket knives, from katanas to cookie cutters! There was even a cheese grater and few sharpened sticks there, and I think I saw a thumb tack.

Immediately I started thinking of an escape plan, but the odds were against me. I was strapped to a table unmasked and half naked save for a pair of thin silk boxers in front of a schizophrenic psycho.

_Speaking of which were the hell did he go?_

"BLOOD TESTS!" the Joker shouted before a sharp pain made me cry out. Looking down I realized the Joker had stabbed a needle in my nipple! _Holy shit! What the __**FUCK! **_

"Agggh" I grit my teeth. I would **not **give him the pleasure of hearing me scream. I felt the unnatural sucking sensation of the needle drawing blood.

The Joker ripped the needle from me. Little trickles of sticky blood were seeping from the wound.

"There, that wasn't so bad now was it? The Joker cooed.

"What the hell was **that?!**" I asked franticly, I mean could you blame me? The psycho just shoved a needle in my nipple!

"That, ah, was a bloo**d** tes**t**. Do I have to show you again.?" he asked in a sadistic tone.

"**NO! **I want you to **let me go!**"

"Not gonna happen! You know, you should be more grateful towards me, seeing as I took the time to stitch up that nasty gash on your head."

I became aware of the throbbing in my head, grateful it wasn't a splitting headache like I imagined. I stared at him for a moment, trying to decide whether to thank him or make a snide remark.

I decided on the latter.

"Well I don't remember asking you to do that now did I?"

Bad choice.

The Joker growled in annoyance. He set down the now bloody needle in favor of a particularly sharp scalpel.

"What are you doing now?" I asked. I had a pretty good idea of what he was going to do. It involved a certain ex-psycho ward patient stabbing a certain **me** to death.

"Wouldn't want you to be mixed up with the other **patients** now would I? he said lowly.

I looked up at the scared up face of the Joker. He raised the scalpel above his head and my heart nearly stopped.

_This is it. I'm going to die here._

The psycho brought the blade down quickly, making it look like a shiny blur until it reached my chest.

"Ahhhgh!" I cried out. Long rivulets of blood made their way down my torso, staining my once clean boxers.

The Joker was carving something into my chest, the blade scraping at my ribs causing spasms to rack my body.

The scalpel was ripped out of me after what seemed like hours, of course I later found out it was only a few minutes.

All to soon the blood loss made me dizzy and darkness threatened to over take me.

I was vaguely aware of the Joker setting the scalpel down and a wet cloth wiping away the blood on my mutilated chest.

The Joker lifted my chin, forcing me to stare into his cold eyes.

"Welcome to Court Jester General, you are patient 0801." the Joker broke out into insane laughter.

I managed a pitiful glare before closing my eyes, darkness claiming me.

* * *

**AUTHORS NOTES**

Hahahahaha! Chapter 2 down! Thank you guys so much for the reviews!

Oh and #0801 is the Jokers patient number while in Arkham Asylum according to the graphic novel, The Killing Joke. I've done my part now its your turn, **REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW!** ^_^

Next chapter: The Jokers gonna have some fun with a cheese grater and a spoon!


	3. Cheesegraters are Fun!

****

Disclaimer: I do not own the Joker or any of the characters in The Dark Knight. But I do own the plot in this story, SO DON'T STEAL IT!

**Warnings: Profanity, blood, and gross misuse of a cheese grater.**

_Thoughts/Flashback_

**Emphasis/Title**

"Talking"

* * *

**CHAPTER 3**

The first thing Bruce was aware of when he came to was the sound of clanking medal and disturbingly cheery humming. There was a dull throbbing in his nipple and a horrible burning sensation that spread over most of his upper torso. He felt something brush up against his ear and held his breath in fear of something worst than yesterdays torment, which incidentally included the mental scaring.

_Fucking straps, fucking pain, fucking Joker, Fucking…FUCK!_

Someone was breathing heavily in his ear, and his own breaths were coming in short hollow gasps.

_Damn, he knows I'm awake!_

Something cold and assumingly metallic was placed against his ear and he instinctively moved away from it but soon found his **head** was now fixed with a strap, placed directly in the middle of his forehead.

The deep breaths soon morphed into unsettling giggles "Hmmph hmm hmm hmmm! Open your eyes Brucey, I know your awake." the Jokers voice was grating and worn, as if he'd over used it some how.

_No way in hell am I opening my eyes! Who knows what kind of insane thing that wanna-be clown would do to me!_

The Joker doesn't take to kindly to being ignored. The flat part of whatever-it-was was suddenly digging into his ear. The captive man groaned in discomfort.

"Open your _FUCKING _eyes!" The insane clown suddenly yelled.

Hesitantly, Bruce peeked one eye open and shifted his gaze to his right where the Joker stood, holding a…_cheese grater? _

"You, you fucking psychopath." Bruce's voice was quiet and shaking with disbelief.

"You are in no place to judge Brucey." He said with a smile.

With no warning what so ever, the Joker furiously carved away at the captive bats ear, bringing the grater up and down as if he was shaking a martini. Blood speckled the make-up that covered the clowns scared face.

Bruce was in shock, vision blurring, but refusing to scream. The Carmine(1) liquid spread over the entirety of his face, chunks of ear and blood landed on his shoulder and stained the leather straps. Tears welded up in his eyes but he refused to let them fall. All captive man could hear was the sickening scraping noise of the grater and the sadistic clowns laughter echoing in the large room.

The Jokers laugh was cruel and loud, so loud in fact Bruce sweared his butler Alfred could hear him all the way at the mansion.

_Alfred!_

Remembering his forcibly abandoned butler he yelled in frustration and pain struggling against his restraints. Desperately shouting profanities and empty threats didn't ease the pain but it did succeed in halting the Jokers actions, if only for a minute.

The Joker drew away, bloodied grater still in hand, to stand in front of the unmasked bat. "And here I thought I had broken your spirit" He chuckled.

"You? Think?" Bruce laughed spitefully. He tried not to move his head too much, for if he did, it would send waves of burning pain through out the right side of his head.

"I'm board with this game. Lets play another!" The Joker was quick to change the subject and dropped the horribly misused cheese grater where he stood.

Fear was etched into the bats soul. He was Batman not Superman(2). The once hero was about to ask the clown what kind of game he had in mind but was cut short when the Joker ran behind him to some were out of his sight.

Bats braced himself and prepared to see the Joker pop up in front of him with another insanely improvised torture device. Like a Jackhammer with a fork at the end, or a Belt sander-Yo-yo combo. He shuddered at the thought.

In complete contrast to what he was thinking, the Joker came back with nothing but a simple wooden stool.

Sitting down in it, Bruce finally got a good look of the Joker since yesterday. Despite the immense burning pain and hanging chunks of flesh on his ear, Bruce still managed an inward chuckle. (3)The Joker was wearing proper chefs attire which included comfortable black shoes, an apron that was probably white before being stained with Bruce's blood, a pair of loose fitting white pants, a white button down long-sleeve jacket, and, to top it all off, one of those weird puffy hats that chefs usually wear. Personally, Bruce always though the hats unnecessary, but, like the Joker had said: "_You are in no place to Judge…"_

"Like my outfit Brucey? The guy I got it off put up quite a struggle, scratched me up like a cat on crack.(4) Owned a place called Elzar's(5) or something…" The Joker started to mumble.

Bruce remained silent.

"Soooooooooo… I bet your wondering what the game is, aren't chya?"

Again silence.

Frowning, the Joker clicked his tongue and walked over to the far right wall, where the deadly assortment of tools hung. Oddly enough, he came back with nothing more than a spoon.

_Okay that's it. What's with all the weird improvised weapons? I mean the spoon was right next to a chainsaw for crying out loud!_

Not that he wanted him to **use **the chainsaw, it was just a thought.

The Joker stood in front of him, spoon in hand, growling low in his throat. His face twisted into a menacing scowl and his eyes narrowed to slits.

Suddenly the sadistic man smiled, his expression changing with Schizophrenic-like speed.

"Oooh-kay Bruceyyy," he drew out the 'Y'. "the name of the game is Truth or Carve. The point of this lovely game is simply to **ex**change information. Sorta like truth or dare, 'sept instead of a dare, I get to rip you up a little."

He paused to let his words sink in before continuing. "See this spoon?" he held up the spoon. "Not very **sharp** is i**t**? Have you ever tried cutting a **steak** with a spoon? I imagine it didn't cut very well, am I right?"

Bruce looked straight into his kohl smeared eyes(6), still refusing to answer but impatiently waiting for the Joker to finish his disturbing explanation. The burning in his ear had dulled into a painful throb and un-carved chunks still swayed with every movement.

"Tell me Bats, can you imagine how painful it would be to be sliced up with something as blunt as a **spoon**? Just getting through the first layer of skin would be like sliding across a carpet full of glass naked." He giggled. "And **yes** I have done that. Not fun! HAHAHAHA HMMPH HAAHAHAHA!" He explained bursting into hysterics.

"And if you decide to lie?" Bruce decided this was the best time to speak up.

"If I lie!?" The clown faked hurt. "Would I lie to **you**?"

Bruce growled "**Yes!**" He half shouted

"Fine…well if **I** lie…I'll strip."

Bruce stared in shock, biting his tongue. _He's __**got**__ to __be kidding. _"You'll…**What!?**"

"Lets get started!" The Joker completely ignoring his question. "I'll go first. Truth or Carve?" he asked.

This was going way to fast for Bruce. How could somebody switch between emotions so fast? "Truth!" he called out. _I'd like to __**keep **__my other ear thank you._

"Okay…" The Joker sat down on the forgotten stool and adjusted his hat. Licking his lips he played with the ridicules choice of torture device, twirling it in his fingers. He decided on something simple. "What's your favorite food?"

Bruce stared blankly at the mad clown. Here he was, strapped to a medal table, facing a legally insane man who wore grease paint to look like a clown, whom of which was currently wearing a chefs outfit complete with goofy hat. It was almost laughable if not for the immense pain continually being thrust upon him.

Bruce decided right then that the only way he could ever **hope **to get out of this alive, is if he took a deep breath, and played along.

"Chicken Teriyaki."

* * *

**AUTHORS NOTES**

**_No this is not Joker/Bruce slash and you'll find out what I mean in the next chapter._**

(1) Carmine is the general term for a particularly deep red color.

(2) Lame but to tempting to pass up!

(3) I have no background info on this, I got all this information on google.

(4) JTHM Johnny The Homicidal Maniac reference, couldn't resist!

(5) Futurama reference!

(6) I'm only assuming It's Kohl.

Woot! Well there's **chapter 3 up!** Hope you enjoyed it and **if you have any crazy improvised weapon ideas do not hesitate to tell me** in your **reviews! **As you've probably noticed, the Joker's outfits are themed so If you want a short **late Valentines Day themed chapter**, there a **poll** on my profile.

**PLEASE VOTE** and **REVIEW!** ^_^


	4. Wire cutters and dog collars

_**Disclaimer: I do not own the Joker or any of the characters in The Dark Knight. But I do own the plot in this story, SO DON'T STEAL IT!**_

_**Warnings: Profanity, blood, and hysterics.**_

_Thoughts/Flashback_

**Emphasis/Title**

"Talking"

* * *

**PREVIOUSLY**

_~"Oooh-kay Bruceyyy," he drew out the 'Y'. "the name of the game is Truth or Carve. The point of this lovely game is simply to __**ex**__change information. Sorta like truth or dare, 'sept instead of a dare, I get to rip you up a little."~_

…

_~"And if you decide to lie?" Bruce decided this was the best time to speak up._

"_If I lie!?" The clown faked hurt. "Would I lie to __**you**__?"_

_Bruce growled "__**Yes!**__" He half shouted_

"_Fine…well if __**I**__ lie…I'll strip."~_

…

_~"Tell me Bats, can you imagine how painful it would be to be sliced up with something as blunt as a __**spoon**__?…~_

…

_~"Okay…" The Joker sat down on the forgotten stool and adjusted his hat. Licking his lips he played with the ridicules choice of torture device, twirling it in his fingers. He decided on something simple. "What's your favorite food?"_

_Bruce stared blankly at the mad clown. Here he was, strapped to a medal table, facing a legally insane man who wore grease paint to look like a clown, whom of which was currently wearing a chefs outfit complete with goofy hat. It was almost laughable if not for the immense pain continually being thrust upon him._

_Bruce decided right then that the only way he could ever __**hope **__to get out of this alive, is if he took a deep breath, and played along._

"_Chicken Teriyaki."~_

* * *

**CHAPTER 4**

Bruce yawned. They had been playing this game for what he was sure was hours, and the Joker didn't seem like he would be tiring anytime soon. There was no clock in the room so Bruce wasn't exactly sure of the time, or the day for that matter.

_Jeez how much longer is this gonna last? _

So far the only thing Bruce had found out about the Joker was that his favorite food is a tuna fish sandwich, he hates popcorn, and his favorite song was Funhouse by Pink, and he doesn't intend to let Bruce go any time soon.

_Crap._

Luckily for him, he'd only gotten 'carved' with the spoon four times, and the Joker was down to pants, socks, and that stupid hat.

The Joker on the other hand, had found out quite a lot about Bruce. His relationship with Rachel, how his parents died; which, for Bruce, had been quite difficult to relive err…retell. Favorite food, were he trained (in as little detail as possible), his favorite color which surprisingly was yellow of all things, and his favorite song, Für Elise by Beethoven. Said something about it being **calming **or something…

Bruce yawned once more. "Gettin' tired Brucey?" The Joker asked with a smirk.

"Yes I am. And I…uh…" Bruce drifted off.

"Hmm? What was that?"

"I - *mumble*"

"I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that." The Joker put his hand to his ear.

"Ihavetogotothebathroom." Bruce mumbled quickly.

"Speak up!" The clown sing-songed.

"I-HAVE-TO-GO-TO-THE-BATHROOM." It was true to, he **did **have to go. Seeing as his last 'trip' was assumingly a day or two ago. How he managed to hold it this long was beyond him.

_May have something to do with blacking out so much._

"That's better! Hmmm lets see…well I cant just let you walk to the bathroom on your own seeing as you might try to escape…" The Joker placed his hand under his chin and leaned in on the stool.

_There goes plan A. _

"And I really don't wanna watch you do it…"

_Thank god._

"I could keep you on a leash on the other side of the door…nah you'd chew through it while your in there…"

_Plan B, out the door._

"Ooo I got it! A **chain **leash! Chew through that, pretty boy!" He smirked.

_Eh…I'll figure something out…clowns bound to have something laying around that can cut through a simple chain…_

It was then that Bruce realized that the Joker had been saying something during his mental escape plan.

"Huh?" Bruce turned to the schizo who was now out of his seat and fiddling with something behind him.

"Jeez what are you, **death**?" the Joker giggled. Bruce could here the sound of clanking metal. "Maaayyyybe I shouldn't have gone for your ear…" He muttered.

The Joker turned to Bruce holding what was probably once a dogs choke chain but now a little thicker. The end that was originally designed to tighten when pulled was now modified into a thick snap-on metal collar with a padlock the size of Bruce's fist.

_Joy._

Bruce struggled to breath when it was snapped in place. "Too…tight!" he wheezed.

"Sorry Batty but this particular collar was originally ment for my **female **guests."

"I _-wheeze- _hate _-gasp- _you! _-choke-_" Bruce managed to sputter.

"Awwww, stop, your gonna make me blush!" The Joker batted his eyes mockingly before wrapping the end of the chain around his wrist and undoing the strap on Bruce's head. He reached for the one on his chest but stopped short. "Oh! I almost forgot!" The mad-man reached under the table of medical tools that was surprisingly still there and pulled out a pair of blood crusted hand cuffs.

_Great…_

Clicking them on, the clown returned to the leather strap across Bruce's abdomen. One by one the straps were removed and soon the only thing holding Bruce down was the dried blood along the back of his shoulder and waist. "Well? You commin'?" The Joker gave the chain a sharp tug that succeeded in detaching Bruce from the table, causing him to fall hard on his knees. "What do ya want me to carry ya?" He sneered. "Come on!" he started walking towards the door, the long chain rising off the floor before straitening and tugging on Bruce's neck.

Shakily, Bruce rose to his feet and took a few hesitant steps towards the door, his legs were shaky seeing as he hadn't walked in a while. The Joker tapped his foot impatiently. "Come on, come on, come on, come on! I don't have all day!" He then gave the chain another sharp tug, momentarily choking Bruce in the process. Bruce grunted and regained his footing. Straitening up, he took in as much air as his lungs would allow and strode into the hallway were the Joker was already walking to what Bruce hoped was the bathroom and not another room to torture him in.

Walking in the hallway Bruce took the chance to memorize his surrounding when- **if **he got out of there. Most of the many doors were closed but the ones that were open were a gruesome sight indeed. Looking into another room, Bruce saw impossibly large ban saws and blood. Lots of blood. Most likely fresh. They passed by another bunch of closed doors, a few probably leading into other hallways. Each time an open door came up Bruce looked in and winced. Most of them had more disturbing devices in them, but a couple of times he saw them being put to use and realized he wasn't the only one there; he was just the guest of honor.

They turned a corner and Bruce gagged on the stench. He held his breath, not wanting to lose what little contents of his stomach he had. Strangely, this part of the hallway was surprisingly clean, _so where is that disgusting smell coming from?_ Bruce passed by a few closed doors before reaching another open one. Looking in his eyes widened and he stopped short, the collar yanking hard around his neck.

The room was huge with a high ceiling, but he couldn't **see** the ceiling. No, no **hanging** from above, blocking his view of the ceiling, were countless heads hanging…dripping…dark, gooey blood…their spinal cords still attached. Swinging…faces frozen in anguish…shock…pain…fear. The floor was covered in the broken skulls and vertebrae of the dead whose muscles and tendons decomposed enough down to the point were it could no longer hold itself together and collapsed to the ground below, shattering on impact.

Feeling light headed, Bruce fell to his knees and emptied whatever contents of his stomach he had left. It made a sickening 'sploosh' sound on the concrete floor.

"Ohhhh…maayyybe I should have closed that particular door…hee hee hah aha!" The Joker cackled.

Bruce was hunched over gasping for breath. "You, you **monster**!" Bruce shouted. "How could you -gasp- how could you **do **that!? All those innocent people!"

"They weren't **innocent**. None of those people deserved to live. Robbers, smugglers, rapists, they were all scum!" The Joker was serious now, fuming even.

"But you're a **murderer**! Your crazy! Why don't you kill yourself?!"

"Killing myself wouldn't be very pro**duc**tive now would i**t**? He licked his lips. The bottom of his socks were getting soaked from the various fluids seeping from the room and walls. "I'm going to get rid of them all, but you, you were in the way of all that, so now you're here...with me…your system is flawed. One society held together by incompetent police, judges… and a man in a bat suit. Anarchy is different, unique…no leaders or rulers, no government…If I were to get rid of all the people who have **stained** Gotham; the people who **taint** the **world**…every thing would be perfect. A perfect world…" he drifted off, a dazed and dreamy look on his scared face.

"Your insane…" Bruce mumbled. "And what about you huh? Suppose you do achieve in creating 'the perfect world', then what? What are you going to do? You're a murderer, your as bad as them!" He panted. Every breath felt like needles against his throat and the collar was starting to rub his neck raw.

"No. No I'm not. I'm different, I'm not clouded like the rest of them. They've committed crimes for their own personal gain. I want to help this filthy world. You see I always see things clearly, just…from a different point of view." The Joker ended. No laugh. No smile. Nothing. For once, he was completely serious.

Bruce stared speechless as the murderer continued walking, dragging him along. He struggled to get to his feet but he was still in shock from what he saw and the Jokers revelation. Giving up, he laid on his back and allowed the Joker to drag him to their destination. Upon arriving, Bruce got to his feet and watched the Joker unlock the metal door. "Get in, and make it quick." he commanded.

The first thing Bruce noticed upon stepping into the surprisingly large and blood stained bathroom was the decomposing body in the far right corner. Bruce turned and saw the door closing, the chain to the collar resting in the space underneath the door. Bruce stepped in front of the filthy toilet and was startled by a another eye staring back at him. Groaning, he did his 'business' and commenced to wash his hands. There was a large dirty mirror above the sink, far to dirty to clearly see his reflection in. Bruce left the water on and searched under the sink for something to clean it off with. Finding a roll of paper towels, he cleaned off only the part of the mirror that fit his frame.

He gasped at what he saw, his wounds were worse than he thought. His chest was scabbed over, probably infected and the numbers '0801' were barely visible under the dried smudged blood. His ear was completely removed save for a small scabby nub and there was dried blood all over his right shoulder and arm that probably continued some ways down his back. The fresh spoon-inflicted wounds on his arms were jagged and bleeding were the skin had been ripped off. Once clean boxers had now been reduced to a crusted blood stained pair with a feel akin to sand paper. His eyes were bloodshot and he could vaguely see a jagged line of stitches starting from the top of his forehead and ending somewhere behind his left ear. His hair was dirty and greasy and begged the question: _How long have I been here? _

A loud banging at the door interrupted his thoughts. "Hey, hurry it up in there, what did ya fall in or somtin'?" The Joker called over the running water. "Hold on!" He yelled with a little more force than necessary. He cleaned himself off as best he could despite the stinging of his wounds and dried off with the left over paper towels. He then proceeded to look for something to cut the chain with. Wandering around the bathroom with the water still on he came up to the rotting body in the corner and, despite his better judgment, knelt down and reached his hands into the crusty clothes in search for some kind of concealed weapon the person could of possibly had before dieing.

Looking up were the head was supposed to be, he realized that this persons head and spine had been removed and was probably somewhere in that horrendously gruesome room he saw moments ago.

Slowly but surely his hopes of escape died away as he went through the shirt and pants and came up with nothing. He reached the assumingly mans shoes and pulled one off. Almost immediately, a small pair of wire cutters clanked to the floor. _Well its not much but its better than nothing. _

He picked them up and did a quick inspection, not knowing how long they've been there. _A little rusted, greasy. I'll have to be careful or I might put a hole in my neck. _He grimaced at the though. Placing the cutters a couple of links below the padlock he prayed in hopes it was strong enough to cut through at least one link, as he could do the rest.

He held his breath and squeezed as hard as he could. Twisting and pulling at the thick metal. Taking in a breath, he glanced at the door wondering if the Joker could hear his heart pounding against his ribs as clearly as he himself could.

Bruce continued at it, twisting, yanking and rubbing at the metal as hard as possible. Little by little the metal bent and rubbed away and soon there was a small but definite hole in the link. Smirking, Bruce set the wire cutters down and grasped the sides of the chain with each hand and pulled as hard as the cuffs would allow.

_Fucking chain…come on, BEND! _

He gasped as the metal finally bent and one individual link clanked to the floor.

_Oh thank god!_

Bruce did a little mental victory dance and got to his feet, taking the little wire cutters with him. He already had a foolproof escape planed out in his head:

_1. Turn off water_

_2. Tell the Joker I'm coming out._

_3. Open the door and stab the freak._

_4. Run like hell._

Yep. Foolproof.

Bruce walked to the sink and turned off the water. _Step one, check. _"Okay Joker, I'm coming out!" He announced. _Step two, done. _Bruce clutch on the wire cutters tightened with each step to the door.

"About time! I was beginning to think you flushed yourself down the toilet to get away from me! Hahahaha heeehehehe aha aha!" The Jokers laugh made Bruce cringe.

_This is it. If I don't get out of here now this place will become my grave. _His eyes widened at the thought as he clenched the door handle. His heart beat was erratic and sweat formed on his brow, mind filling with all the horrible things the clown would do to him if this didn't work.

He took in a deep breath and yanked the door open so fast he could of swore he pulled something. "AGGGHH!" Yelling at the top of his lungs, Bruce brought the sharp and rusted cutters down piercing the clowns skin easily. Blood gushed from the wound, staining a majority of Bruce's arm and face.

"AHHh ha ahaha hhahha mphh haahaa!" The Jokers short cry of pain was almost immediately replaced with hysterical laughs and he grasped his shoulder in an attempt to stop the bleeding. Bruce wasn't exactly aiming for the shoulder but it had the same effect he'd hoped for. Distraction.

_Step three, over. Now I just have to…_

Bruce turned on his heel and speed down the hall so fast one would think the devil himself was chasing him. _Step four, yay! _He made his way down the many winding halls, relying on memory alone to get him out. The Jokers laughter steadily became fainter but Bruce didn't slow down. In fact, he sped** up**. He zoomed by the room with the heads the room with the ban saws.

The collar constricted his throat and his breathing was becoming labored but he shook it off and continued running. He burst though the door he was sure lead to the room he'd resided in earlier and ran out the conjoining door but not before grabbing a knife from the wall of evil, (a.k.a. the wall of sharp things) in case the Joker thought to come after him.

The room that he ran into next wasn't a room at all. No, this was the large main warehouse storage room he'd originally walked into. The support beam was still on the floor along with most of the ceiling. He glanced back at the room he came out of. _He's not even gonna come after me?_ Confusion and the tiniest bit of hurt graced Bruce's features but he quickly shook it off.

_What am I insane?! I'm out of here! _

And with that, the hysterical billionaire ran out the double doors and into the filthy streets.

Hand cuffed, half naked, and whooping for joy.

* * *

**AUTHORSNOTES**

Yes! Another chapter down! And a long one two, **2986 words! **I had a lot of fun with this chapter and no for those of you wondering **this is not over, its just the beginning.** Hahahhah ahhah ahahha! *evil laugh* *gasp* I may have said to much!

I don't necessarily like the band **Pink** but their song **Funhouse** is perfect for the Joker! Listen to it and think of the 'Funhouse' as Gotham. X)

In dramatic Justice League announcer voice: _**What will happen to Bruce!? Will the Joker come after him!? How long will it take for the body in the bathroom to realize its wire cutters are gone?! Find out all this and more next time on, Sadistic Clowns are Bad for Your Health!!!**_

**Please Review!!! ***puppy dog eyes* **Paw weeess?!**

_Ba-byz!_


	5. Moooorphine

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Joker or any of the characters in The Dark Knight. But I do own the plot in this story, SO DON'T STEAL IT!**

**Warnings: Profanity, blood, and reporters.**

_Thoughts/Flashback_

**Emphasis/Title**

"Talking"

* * *

**PREVIOUSLY**

_~"AGGGHH!" Yelling at the top of his lungs, Bruce brought the sharp and rusted cutters down piercing the clowns skin easily.~_

_~Bruce turned on his heel and speed down the hall so fast one would think the devil himself was chasing him. The Jokers laughter steadily became fainter but Bruce didn't slow down. In fact, he sped__** up**__. He zoomed by the room with the heads the room with the ban saws.~_

_~The room that he ran into next wasn't a room at all. No, this was the large main warehouse storage room he'd originally walked into. The support beam was still on the floor along with most of the ceiling. He glanced back at the room he came out of. _He's not even gonna come after me? _Confusion and the tiniest bit of hurt graced Bruce's features but he quickly shook it off. _

What am I insane?! I'm out of here!

_And with that, the hysterical billionaire ran out the double doors and into the filthy streets. _

_Hand cuffed, half naked, and whooping for joy.~_

* * *

**CHAPTER 5**

Alfred set the mug down on the coffee table, being sure to mind the coaster. He sat neatly on the couch and waited patiently for the Lieutenant to report what he's found out about his missing master. He cleared his throat and shifted restlessly, eyes never moving away from the steaming mug.

The Lieutenant sighed. "We haven't got any new leads on Mr. Wayne's whereabouts. I'm sorry but we didn't have very much to work with in the beginning." Gordon sighed once more and picks up his own mug, taking a small sip of the bitter black liquid.

Alfred ran a hand through his hair. "I see…well, best be on your way then. I'm sure you have more cases to deal with. I'll show you to the door." He exhaled sadly and heaved himself off the expensive couch then lead the other man to the front door.

Once at the door Gordon turned to face the forlorn butler. "I'm sorry. If we find out anything more I'll contact you immediately. Thanks for the coffee." Alfred nodded, the air around them somehow becoming depressing and stale. "Right then…" At that moment the doorbell rang startling them both. "Well who could that be?" Alfred turned and opened the door, gasping in horrified shock. "M-Master Bruce?"

There Bruce stood hunched over clad only in his boxers and grasping a sinister looking knife in one hand cuffed hand, multiple bloody and scabbing gashes lining his body. His hair was greasy and dirty, framing his face in a disturbing fashion. There was a line of crudely applied stitches along the left side of his head. "Oh…hello Alfred. Mind letting me in?" Bruce giggled which disturbed the English butler and lieutenant greatly.

Alfred was too shocked for words and simply stepped aside for Bruce to stagger in. He took a few unsteady steps but just as soon as he was through the door he collapsed, dropping the knife and falling to his knees, twisting so as to land on his back. He landed with a dull thud, sprawled out on the tiled floor in such a way one would think he had broken something. "So Alfred, what ya been up to?" He asked casually placing his cuffed hands palm up on his head. His eyes held a strange crazed look to them.

"Oh my! Sir what happened!? Are you okay? Who did this to you? How did you escape?" Alfred started a panicked onslaught of questions but Bruce drowned him out, vaguely aware of the sound of a phone dialing and the door closing. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, wincing as his scabbed chest stretched and bleed.

_I did it. I'm out. _

Bruce giggled once more. _I'm not dead. I made it back. I'm alive! _

His giggles soon turned into unsettling laughs that filled the empty halls of the large mansion. "Hahaha haha ah AHA AHHAHAAHAA HAHAHAHA! **I'M ALIVE! **AAAHAHAHA HAHAHA!"

Alfred, becoming more than unsettled by his manic master, knelt down and grasped Bruce's shoulders in an unwavering hold. _Oh do forgive me for this sir. _He violently yanked his torso off the floor and roughly shook him. Bruce's head snapped back and forth, the collar rubbing already tender skin raw once more.

"Sir! Sir! Please Master Wayne get a hold of yourself!" Alfred yelled. Bruce's laughter was unrelentingly chilling and Alfred was becoming desperate. "Master Wayne! Master Wayne! **Bruce! **Bruce, cease this nonsensical laughter at **once**!" He angrily shouted, back-handing Bruce in an act of desperation.

Bruce silenced immediately, snapping his eyes open he brought shaky hands up to grasp Alfred's aged ones. "Alfred?"

"Oh thank goodness sir, I was beginning to think you had really lost it." Alfred sighed, relief evident in his voice.

"Yeah…yeah I'm fine now. I'm sorry." Bruce's voice was soft and scratchy, but Alfred didn't remove his hands just yet. "I'm sorry I had to do that sir, but you were becoming hysterical. As they say drastic times call for drastic measures." Alfred gave a half-hearted smile. "Yeah…" Bruce suddenly found the floor very interesting. "Where's Gordon? He was here wasn't he? Or was that just my imagination?" Bruce watched with mild interest as dark sticky blood seeped from under the collar and trickled down his torso.

Alfred sighed for what seemed like the billionth time that day. "Yes, he was here. He called an ambulance and left to gather his team. Rest assured their going to find whoever did this to you."

Bruce didn't reply.

It was at that moment sirens were heard outside, along with the sound of slamming doors and footsteps pounding on the pavement. Alfred released Bruce and got up to open the door just in time for the paramedics to rush in with a gurney trailing ahead of them. Bruce swallowed dryly as police flooded in, some trying to hold back the wave of reporters that some how appeared.

_Vultures._

Bruce scowled and allowed the paramedics to hoist him onto the gurney. He was getting tired. The effects of the days trials finally getting to him and he became increasingly aware of a dull throbbing in his head. He closed his eyes, drifting in and out of consciousness and catching only bits and pieces of sentences floating around him.

"You will be okay sir…"

"…collar off him!"

"…out of the way!"

"…traffic…"

"…the police will…"

"…oxygen…"

"…in the I.C.U.!"

"…full, the Joker…"

"…You'll be fine…"

"…in for questioning…"

"…just pray…"

_Beep…beep…beep…_

_So fuzzy…_

_Beep…beep…beep…_

_What's…that noise? _

"…should be fine in a couple of weeks." A voice ended. Bruce tilted his head in the direction of the mysterious voice hoping to hear more. Everything felt fuzzy and his mouth was cotton dry, giving him the immediate urge for water. He listened for the voice again.

"…plenty of scars but I'm more worried about the mental scars."

_Scars? _He listened harder, hoping to catch more than just the end of each sentence.

"I'll get him the best available. I'm sure he can afford it."

_Afford what?_

"I'd like to take him in for questioning as soon as possible. When do you suppose that will be?" A second voice asked.

_Who's that? What do you mean questioning?_

"Of course but I'm afraid if you want dependable answers you'll have to wait awhile." The first voice explained.

"How long?" The second voice sounded agitated.

"Approximately 8 to 9 weeks. That doesn't include the therapy or the time it will take to acquire a prosthetic **ear** of all things." The first voice clarified.

_Prosthetic ear? What the?_

Bruce chose that moment to pry his eyes open, which was easier said than done. He blinked a couple of times and waited for the room get in focus. Two blurry shapes at the foot of his bed soon became solid figures and Bruce shifted to get a better look.

"I need answers now! I have a pretty good idea of who did this but I need **his** confirmation to go out and search."

"Of course Lieutenant. I'll do what I can but keep in mind he might **never** get over this."A man Bruce recognized as a doctor reminded.

_Lieutenant Gordon… _Bruce tried to speak up but his throat was to dry and settled for squirming under the restricting bed sheets until he caught their attention.

"He's awake already?" The doctor asked disbelievingly. He walked over to Bruce and pushed a button on his bed that rose his head and chest up. Bruce made a dry coughing noise and gestured to his throat.

"Oh of course." The doctor handed him a styrofoam cup of water that Bruce eagerly downed in large gulps. He took a few unsteady breaths before deciding to speak. "Wha-" He cleared his throat. "What happened?"

"All your questions will be answered soon but for now you should rest. Try not to move around too much." The doctor took the empty cup from Bruce.

"Who…?" Bruce drifted off.

"Oh! Please excuse my manners, I'm Dr. Hemstine." He smiled cheerfully.

Bruce grimaced at the cheeriness in his voice and looked over at the Lieutenant. "What happened?" He asked again, his voice firm and slightly annoyed.

"You really should get some-"

"What. Happened." Bruce cut off.

The Lieutenant sighed and placed a hand on his for head. _Okay, this is getting us no where. Might as well tell the kid. He deserves to know. _"As you have probably guessed by now your at the hospital. You were brought in here a couple of hours ago after you appeared at the front door of your mansion. You gave your butler Alfred and I quite a scare seeing as you were just standing there holding a knife and giggling." he paused, deciding weather or not to go on.

"And?" Bruce pressed. Dr. Hemstine stood in a corner and shifted uncomfortably trying to figure out a way to get out of the room without being noticed and dragged into the conversation.

Gordon sighed once more. I seemed like he had been doing that a lot lately. "And I called 9-1-1 and went to gather my team. Dr. Hemstine here can tell you what happened once you got to the hospital.

Said doctor froze halfway to the door. _Damn. _He turned to face Bruce and let the Lieutenant slide past him and out of the room. _Lucky bastard. _He groaned silently and made his way to Bruce's bedside while nervously scratching the back of his head. Bruce glared up at him and he visibly flinched. _Damn. I hate talking to patients. That's the nurses job. _"Well…" he began.

"Well?" Bruce repeated, arching an eyebrow.

The doctor placed both of his arms beside him and squared his shoulders, trying to look professional. "Well, when they brought you in we had to get some power tools to remove the collar that was restricting most of your breathing and those rusted handcuffs you had on. We also had to clean you up and make sure you didn't have any more injuries we couldn't see so we were forced to remove your boxers." He waited for Bruce's signal to go on.

Bruce shifted under the thin blanket and found himself to be indeed nude. He lightly blushed at the thought of all those doctors and nurses seeing his err…manhood. Not that he was ashamed of anything but he liked to keep to himself. "Go on…" He instructed.

"You came in with multiple lacerations to the chest and arms and you've suffered a Linear Fracture just above the left side of your forehead. This would be considered an open head injury. In a linear fracture the brain is extremely susceptible to infection seeing as the skull is fractured and no longer protects brain tissue from the environment. Meningitis is a common open head injury infection. Meningitis is an infection of the membranes that surround the brain and spinal column. The infection can be caused by bacteria or viruses. We are treating the meningitis with aggressive antibiotics and drugs that reduce brain swelling, the infection is fatal if untreated. Exposed brain tissue is especially vulnerable. If bone or other object fragments had penetrated the brain, brain damage from infection would be profound. Luckily someone had already sewn up the skin surrounding the fracture which partially protected the brain from any serious foreign objects and bacteria. You'll heal up nicely with some rest and medication though there is a chance that short term memory loss will ensue." He took a breath and looked down to see that Bruce was wearing a rather comical look of confusion.

_My god. Its like someone force fed him a medical journal and he just spewed out everything in it. _"Memory loss? My skull was fractured?" Bruce tried to grasp everything he heard but soon gave up due to a painful throbbing forming along the crack in his skull. And his chest. And his arms. "Aggh, shit!" Bruce's eyes widened as a horrible burning sensation grew along his body.

"Oh, I forgot. It's time for me to give you a shot of morphine." The doctor explained sheepishly.

Bruce gave him a hateful glare and tried to imagine him with a saw in his skull. Dr. Hemstine immediately prepared a needle and stuck it in the I.V. Almost instantly Bruce felt a cooling wave flow throughout his body and he relaxed. "Moorrephine…" He mumbled strangely. The doctor gave him a questioning look before setting the needle down and heading towards the door. "If you'd like, I can get the Lieutenant." He pointed.

Bruce had a relaxed look upon his face and nodded his head loosely. Dr. Hemstine walked out into the hallway and motioned for Lieutenant Gordon to come in. But before he got through the door he was yanked roughly by the arm and held in place. Dr. Hemstine gave him a hard glare and moved in close. "Don't pry too much. I'm not sure your aware of this but I have a lot of people to take care of in this hospital and I don't want to have to keep running in here because Mr. Wayne freaked out and ripped out his stitches." He whispered low enough for Bruce not to hear.

Gordon gave him a stern yet reassuring look. "Don't worry. I just want a name and location."

The doctor looked back at Bruce before nodding and letting go. He walked out the door and down the hall, leaving the Gordon and Bruce alone in the off white hospital room. Gordon took a chair from the corner and placed it next to the bed before taking a seat and interlacing his fingers.

"Mr. Wayne? I am Lieutenant Gordon." He announced.

Bruce tilted his head towards the other man with a slightly puzzled look. "You…were on my parents case…" He realized.

The Lieutenant looked surprised and straightened up. "You remember that?"

"Of course." Bruce stated matter-of-factly.

Gordon shook his head, suddenly realizing they were getting off track. "It's nice to know you would bother to remember something like that. But, that's beside the point. I need to ask you some questions Mr. Wayne." He informed.

Bruce seemed to think this over before nodding his head and sitting up more.

Gordon took this as a sign to begin. "I'm sorry if this seems a bit forward but, who did this to you?"

Bruce's composure suddenly changed from calm and relaxed to hateful and saddened. He took a deep breath and answered.

"A homicidal clown dressed in drag."

* * *

**AUTHORSNOTES**

Yes! Another chapter down! I am SOOOO SORRY for the wait! I had a major case of Batman writers block! TT~TT As a matter of fact I still have it! O.O

I'm sorry if this chapter doesn't include much blood or murder. And for those of you who have read How 'bout a smile, you'll know who Dr. Hemstine is. X)

No, I haven't for got about the very very very very late valentines fic! I still have some writers block is all.

Please **Review**!

_Ba-byez!_


	6. Horribly late Vday special

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Joker or any of the characters in The Dark Knight. But I do own the plot in this story, SO DON'T STEAL IT!**

**Warnings: Blood, gore, mild humor, mild slash.**

_Thoughts/Flashback_

**Emphasis/Title**

"Talking"

* * *

*Takes place with Bruce still in the Jokers clutches.*

**Happy ****very very very unnecessarily horribly ridiculously late**** Valentines Day!**

* * *

Bruce was bored. Very bored. He had been left in the dim room for hours and the reality of the situation sunk in. Bruce was going to die here. He cracked his neck and tried fruitlessly to stretch in the tight leather bonds, but only succeeded in ripping the scab forming across his chest. He sighed and winced as blood oozed softly down his torso.

The door scratched open and shut, alerting Bruce to the others presence. _So your not going to let me starve. _Bruce listened with mild interest as the Joker hummed a little tune that sounded creepily similar to the beginning of 'We're No Strangers to Love'. He shifted his gaze to his captor and scoffed.

He was wearing his normal everyday suit with one exception. It had colors varying from red to white. The over-coat was red, as so were the pants. The shirt white, with a pink vest and darker pink tie, with matching gloves.

"What's the occasion?" He asked, almost not wanting an answer.

"Do you like it? Took forever to get." The Joker smiled slyly.

"You had it costumed?" Bruce asked skeptically.

"Yep. Special source. Don't wanna kill the only guy that can make my suits." The Joker was now face to face with Bruce, his smile never wavering.

"Hmph. You never answered my question." Bruce glared.

It took a moment for the Joker to figure out what he ment by that, but then smiled once more and waved his finger in a 'no, no' fashion. "Not yet Brucey. If you can't remember, I'm not gonna tell ya!" His lips held kindness yet his eyes held murderous intent.

Bruce growled but otherwise stayed quiet.

The Joker cackled and held out a heart shaped cookie cutter. "Now be a good boy and turn your head to the right. Or do I have to do that for you?" His smile became wicked.

Bruce's eyes became wide at the sight of the cutter. "What?!"

"You heard me hot stuff. Turn your head before I snap it." He raised his other hand and roughly grasped Bruce's head.

"Wh-what? No! Let go!" he struggled in the restraints but only ended up worn out and bleeding profusely.

"Now, now." the Joker cooed as he shoved Bruce's head to the right. "This will only hurt for a second." He laughed as he shoved the cutter into Bruce's neck. Not exactly in the back but almost.

"Gah! Stop! Stop you psychopath!" Bruce yelled painfully. After a few long seconds the cutter was ripped from his neck and tossed aside. Bruce breathed deeply in an attempt to calm himself but was interrupted by the Joker's chilling laugh.

"See! That wasn't so bad now was it!?" He smirked evilly.

Bruce had to admit, it wasn't as horrible as he thought it to be and was about to voice his thoughts when the Joker came back with a small razor. His blood ran cold.

"Now comes the painful part." The Joker attacked his victim with the cold blade, sliding it under his skin and peeling back the flesh there. Bruce made a choked noise, becoming sickened with the amount of blood produced by that one cut. Soon the flesh was removed and being held up by one homicidal murderer. It was small and heart shaped, the edges smoothed by the cookie cutter.

"There, all done!" the Joker laughed and wolfed down the small yet bloody piece of flesh. Bruce was sickened, the bitter stench of blood lingering in the air.

"You carved a heart into my neck?!" He shrieked.

"Yep!" The Joker confirmed proudly. He then grabbed Bruce's neck and shoved his face into his in one fluid motion. "Happy Valentines day." He hissed, then pressed his bloodied lips onto Bruce's.

Bruce withheld a gag and struggled in the clowns grasp. Their lips soon parted and the Joker smirked at his unwilling guests expression. Utter horror. He skipped happily out the room, humming all the way.

Bruce was left bleeding, in pain, and ultimately dumbfounded.

* * *

**AUTHORS NOTES**

Finally! ^^' Done! I am so sorry for the excruciatingly long wait for this short piece of crap! But please understand, I had to destroy my writers block with something! And this was just the thing to do it! It just, got a little damaged upon impact…

Next chapter already up! Please **review**!

Love and straightjackets,

Miz. Jynx


	7. Ghost hands

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Joker or any of the characters in The Dark Knight. But I do own the plot in this story, SO DON'T STEAL IT!**

**Warnings: Profanity, blood, and cops.**

_Thoughts/Flashback_

**Emphasis/Title**

"Talking"

* * *

**PREVIOUSLY**

__

~Gordon took this as a sign to begin. "I'm sorry if this seems a bit forward but, who did this to you?"

Bruce's composure suddenly changed from calm and relaxed to hateful and saddened. He took a deep breath and answered.

"A homicidal clown dressed in drag."~

**CHAPTER 6**

Commissioner Gordon flung open the doors of the GCPD, a determined smile on this face. "We have confirmation!" he announced happily. A round of cheers and applause were herd throughout the room. "I want a city wide search conducted on the Joker. Leave no building unchecked, no rock unturned." The room burst into a series of ringing phones and stomping feet. Field officers headed to theirs cars while others alerted the men already out in the street of the current situation.

Gordon rushed up to his office and picked up the phone, punching chosen buttons until it rang.

"_Hello?" _

"Alfred, its Gordon. Good news, I've just sent out a couple dozen officers to find and capture the Joker. Well get him yet!"

"_Commissioner! That's wonderful news! So it was the Joker then?"_

"Yeah, did quite a number on Mr. Wayne. You should see for yourself, if you think your up to it."

"_Why of course. Which hospital is he staying at?"_

"Gotham's east." Gordon smiled despite the fact that Alfred couldn't see him.

"_If I may ask, will you be there?"_

"No, I have a lot to take care of over here. Tell 'im I said hi."

"_I most certainly will do so. Goodbye Commissioner."_

"See ya." Gordon hung up and stepped out of his office, unaware of two smiling eyes watching him from across he room.

*******

Bruce shifted uncomfortably on the soft hospital bed, unable to find a spot to rest. The doctors said it was nerves. Somehow Bruce doubted that. It seemed as though over time he had grown accustomed to being strapped to a hard metal table and was now unable to relax on anything the least bit comfortable.

He'd given up T.V. a while ago seeing as anything remotely interesting was either unavailable or to covered with static to watch. So now he lay board, and alone in the small room. His healing wounds giving out the occasional throb and itch. A long, dim florescent tube over head as his only source of light. Was his only source of light.

The long bulb when out, engulfing the room in darkness with the exception of the clock that read 8:00p.m. in big red letters. Until that gave out to.

The steady beeping of the heart monitor speed up then died out and for a moment, Bruce thought he flat lined. Until he realized he was still breathing. His eyes still shooting around in the darkness for any source of light. The blinds were closed and the door was equipped with a special rubber door liner that prevented any object such as microphones or camera lenses from entering the room. Evidently, it blocked out light also.

Bruce tried to calm himself. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, trying to steady his erratic heart beat that sounded like thunder in his own ears compared to the deathening silence that had enveloped the room. _Calm down, probably just a power outage. _He held his breath and listened closely. No storm.

Time seemed to pause itself, yet out side of the room Bruce could vaguely hear the sound of nurses shuffling around and computers being typed upon. It was only his room.

A clank and the eerily familiar sound of metal scraping metal at the foot of his bed sounded, causing him to sharply snap his head up and tear some of the still forming scab around his neck. He winced and let his head fall back onto the flat pillow, feeling blood seep out and dirty his bandages. The red liquid covered the skin around his neck wound and chaffed against the bandages forcing him to shift his head in order to prevent a rash, which in turn only ripped his scab more.

He shuttered as a small, barely inaudible giggle emitted from somewhere in the room. It danced on the air and forced its way into his head were it rebounded and echoed as endless laughter.

"No…" He groaned wearily as a single finger slid from his leg and up his chest where it stopped and gave a hesitant, almost nervous poke at his bandages. Bruce moaned, terror filling his every being as another finger, and soon a hand rubbed and pressed against his shredded chest. It bleed out. Bruce couldn't see anything but he was sure his blood had seeped through the bandages and onto the bed by now. If it wasn't for the most recent dosage of morphine he was sure he would be screaming in agony right about now.

The hand felt its way around Bruce's torso, as if looking for something, and found it. Bruce stiffened as layers of bandages and gauze were unraveled and soon became a bloodied mess on the floor where it made a sloppy wet smack. Cold yet sterile hospital air met his raw red-pink skin, making it sting with each soft gust that would have been unnoticeable to undamaged flesh.

A second hand soon joined the other, poking and prodding, tracing the numbers engraved on his chest. First the zero.

"Ohhh…" a soft voice breathed. Bruce felt tears prick his eyes as the morphine started to wear off and a sharp burning took its place.

"Eiiight…" It was barely a whisper, yet Bruce could hear it as if spoken through a megaphone.

"Ohhh…" Bruce hissed in agony as soft yet deadly fingers traced the exact path the knife did. Blood soaked the sheets and pillow, it oozed from his wounds and speed through his veins. Only one thing when through his mind, it had repeated itself over and over so many times he was more than sure it would come true any second now.

_I'm going to die._

"**One**!" It was shouted, and Bruce screamed. Ten thin gloved fingers shoved their way into his chest, straight through each of the bloody, burning numbers. They wiggled and pealed back his skin causing more blood to rush out.

And Bruce kept screaming.

His own hands shot out and grasped at his chest. He could feel the leather of gloves slippery with his own blood, the fingers lost within him. His own hands became bloodied as he tried fruitlessly to pry the offending appendages from his body, but they only pressed deeper. Wave after wave of merciless agony shot from his chest and neck as he thrashed about, the abundant red liquid dripping to the floor and splashed onto his face as his hands slipped and clawed at the hands. But they just pushed harder onto him over and over, like some twisted form of CPR.

The lights shot on and the fingers were abruptly ripped from his chest, painting the walls carmine. A crash was heard, then nothing. Nothing but Bruce's own screaming reverberating on the walls and the sound of multiple pairs of feet and voices shouting for help.

But Bruce was death to it all.

Tears had begun to stream down the sides of his face as more pressure was place on his mutilated torso to stop the bleeding. Bruce's world had become blurry with a horrible combination of tears, blood, and pain. Though, despite all his screaming, the horrible burning on his chest, and the apparent doctors rushing in and out the room with gauze, a strange feeling took place in Bruce's wounded heart. One that he could not place.

…_going to die…_

The constant beeping of the heart monitor had returned and sounded twice as fast as it should've been. He tasted blood in his mouth and felt it pour from his neck. Something in his chest hurt, with each breath it stung.

A finger had punctured a lung.

Bruce's throat clogged with the coppery red substance, hindering air from reaching his lungs. He couldn't breath.

His vision dulled, then died. Like the lights had done so not long ago. The pain had been reduced to a throb, yet he could still feel hands all over him, trying with all their medical experience to stop the bleeding. Bruce's mind had gone fuzzy, yet he could still hear the morphed laughter echo in his skull. His last thought, was one of many others that night. Yet it still seemed so horribly true.

…_going…to…die…_

*******

Alfred sat somberly next to the window of the dirtied hospital room. He stared with mild disgust at the bloody walls and floor, having half a mind to get a mop and sponge to clean it up. He glanced at the figure on the bed, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way the suns morning rays shined brightly off the dried blood on his face. That and Alfred himself sitting next to him on a chair beside the bed dressed in a nice clean butlers suit made the scene beautifully morbid.

Alfred held his breath as his master shifted in his bed, then pushed the sheets back from his face and down to his waist. The old butler shot out of his seat and rushed to the mans side. "Master Bruce?" He was given a pained grunt in response.

"Master Bruce, can you hear me?" He watched as Bruce pried his eyes open, still crusted over with dried blood, and stared at him. Alfred looked into his eyes worriedly and saw nothing but confusion. "Oh dear." He trotted to the door and looked out into the hall. He spotted a couple of nurses and beckoned them over. "Yes, please come here."

"Yes, what's wrong?" Asked a small brunette.

Alfred lead them to Bruce's bedside and bore a concerned tone. "I don't think he knows who I am." He stared down onto Bruce and was met only with a look that practically screamed: _"Who the hell are you?"_

He let the two nurses by and watched as they checked both his eyes and pulse. "Excuse me? Mr. Wayne? Can you hear me?" The blond asked.

"Yes." He responded wearily, though it was more of a question than anything.

"Good, good. Tell me, do you know who you are?" She questioned softly.

"I'm Bruce Wayne. Unless one of you fine ladies has decided otherwise." he smirked playfully.

The women giggled expectedly and Alfred sighed. _The mans laying in his own blood and missing an ear yet he can still charm women like a pure aphrodisiac._

"Well Mr. Wayne, do you know **where **you are?" The brunettes smile could be heard in her words.

"Uhh…not home." he tried to sit up but stiffened and leaned back down with a hiss. "Anyone mind filling me in?"

The three other occupants of the room sighed simultaneously. Which was odd. The brunette stepped up and place her hand on Bruce's. "I'm nurse Silcain and this is nurse Blane. Your at Gothams East hospitals' ICU being treated for severe bodily injuries sustained after being kidnapped by an unknown persons. You've suffered many physical and most likely mental wounds, one of which is taking place right now. You've sustained a blow to the head causing what we believe as temporary short term memory loss."

"Uhh huh…well, when will I remember?" Bruce asked nervously.

The nurses shifted uncomfortably. "Probably when you find something to remind you of recent events." the blond replied.

"Okay. Fine with me." Bruce laid his head back and waited patiently while the nurses shuffled out of the room. Alfred came up to the bed side and placed a hand on Bruce's undamaged shoulder.

"Master Bruce? You do know who I am, right?" Alfred asked worriedly.

Bruce looked at him with a questioning gaze before smiling brightly and chuckling. "Alfred, of course! How could I forget?!"

Alfred gave a weary smile in return. "That's a good question Master Bruce." He gave a small forced laugh.

Bruce smile faded when he eyed the blood lining his own arms and most of the floor. "Alf, what happened in here? It looks like there was a massacre."

Alfred's smile fell as well. "Well…do you think you up to hearing that bit?"

"Yeah, I mean I'm going to remember on my own soon anyway right? How bad could it be?" Bruce shrugged halfheartedly.

Alfred became hesitant, weighting his options and outcomes yet finding they all led to the same thing. "Okay Master Bruce, as you wish. The doctors…they…they said you became hysterical. That you were hallucinating someone attacking you. You dug your own fingers into your chest and punctured a lung." He refused to say anymore.

"My fingers…" Bruce glanced down at his chest and froze. To the untrained, un-tortured eye, they seemed like regular blood stains. Ones of wounds that had bleed through the gauze. But Bruce new better. Even upside-down he could clearly read the numbers that had appeared as regular blood stains on his bandages.

"0801?" Bruce's heart clenched. It all came back to him. From the night he bore the suit to his current conversation with his butler. His few minutes of peace and ignorance was shattered by those numbers. "Alfred." he whispered, terror filling his eyes. "He came back, Alfred."

A deep feeling of dread filled the pit of the old butlers gut. "Who sir?"

"The Joker." It was a strained whisper and Alfred struggled to hear. "He came back, he ripped my bandages off and almost killed me." Bruce was shaking now, staring into nothingness.

Alfred bit his lip and tried to stay calm in the suddenly less bright room. "But, sir, he wasn't here. He couldn't have possibly gotten in the hospital let alone the room."

"He was here, he came back." He repeated.

"But-"

"The window." Bruce glanced in its general direction but otherwise stared straight ahead.

Alfred looked as well before turning his attention back to Bruce. "No, please understand sir, you were hallucinating. It was your own hands, not the Jokers."

Bruce suddenly glared at his friend, hate boring deep into his old soul. "You think. I would do this to myself?" He hissed.

"N-no sir, at least, not in your right mind." Alfred stuttered nervously.

"Right mind?" False realization dawned on him. "You think I'm **crazy**!" He suddenly shouted.

"NO! No of course not!" He raised his hands in defense.

Bruce's eyes were wide and wild as more and more hate filled his being. And another felling. The same from last night he couldn't place. "He was **here**! I **heard** him! Felt his damned gloved hands crush my chest!"

"Please Master Bruce, calm down! There was no one! There would have been blood on the window if there were!" Alfred inched his way to the button that called the nurses and slowly placed a hand on it, ready to push at any moment.

Bruce's breathing calmed as that fact sunk in. _He's right…_ Sadness and guilt were powerful in him, along with another still implacable feeling. He shut his eyes and leaned back in the bed. "I'm sorry Alfred. I'm so sorry."

Alfred visibly relaxed at those words, a small smile gracing his features. "It's…it's quite alright sir. I'm…sure you didn't mean it."

Bruce stared softly out the window, the shades now drawn, and sighed. The feeling was still there, and Bruce wasn't sure it was safe to admit to himself what it was. But it stayed. And he found himself unable to deny himself it any longer.

It was a feeling of abandonment.

* * *

**AUTHORS NOTES**

Woot! I did this all in one inspiration filled afternoon! Go me! *Does happy dance* I hope you enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing!

Ohhh, what's going to happen to our poor Brucey? Who knows? *Raises hand* I do! ^^

Please **review**!

Love and straightjackets,

Miz. Jynx


	8. EXTREAMLY IMPORTANT AUTHORS NOTE!

~ **Important message: ~**

_**First and foremost, I have not and will never abandon this story. I just want to make that clear. Second, I need some help with this story. I have all the gore and torture set up in my mind but I can't seem to figure out a way to get Bruce out of the hospital. Suggestions are extremely welcome and encouraged as I've seemed to have written myself into a corner.**_

_**Please forgive me for not informing you all of this sooner but I just been hung up on that annoying little thing called 'real life'**(Damn it to the eighth layer of hell, yes I know it doesn't exist but damn it anyway!)_

**All suggestions should be sent through PM so that they will not be revealed to other readers.**

__

**A great thanks to all who have read my stories, you don't know how much I appreciate the reviews and love.**

**Love and Straightjackets,**

**Miz. Jynx**


	9. Out of the ICU and back to the game

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Joker or any of the characters in The Dark Knight. But I do own the plot in this story, SO DON'T STEAL IT!**

**Warnings: Profanity, blood, and pianos.**

_**Thoughts/Flashback**_

**Emphasis/Title**

"Talking"

**PREVIOUSLY**

_~Bruce stared softly out the window, the shades now drawn, and sighed. The feeling was still there, and Bruce wasn't sure it was safe to admit to himself what it was. But it stayed. And he found himself unable to deny himself it any longer._

_It was a feeling of abandonment.~_

**CHAPTER 7**

"Hi Bruce."

Oh god no. Bruce stared, feeling more exhausted than anything at the turn of events. The Joker smiled with sadistic pleasure, clearly enjoying the pain on Bruce's face.

"You know it's rude to stare, and close your mouth before I 'drop' somethin' in it."

Bruce continued to stare with wide bloodshot eyes at the very monster he dreaded to think of, and the only person he wished to see in his past week in quarantined ICU. It was the only way to keep out the ever growing mob of reporters and curious citizens that plagued the hospitals grounds and still some slipped in, dressed as high ranking doctors and the like. How that was managed was still being investigated.

"Oh! Here, hold this!" The murderer suddenly thrust a bundle of wires into Bruce's hand and turned away to fiddle with some unseen device. Most likely deprived from the Wall Of Evil.

Finally managing to close his mouth and blink a couple of times, Bruce made the most unintentional bewildered expression his face had ever experienced. "What the bleeding FUCK are you doing here?!" He screeched in his scratchy water deprived voice.

Joker, somewhat startled by the half-expected outburst, cursed and mumbled when something fell from his gloved hand and clattered to the plastic covered ground. He sighed exaggeratedly and quickly retrieved the item before slightly turning towards the shock shaken man.

"Well I WAS going to bust ya out of this hypocrite house but fine! I'll just take my **e-quip-ment **and gooo!" He held the unknown item to his chest and huffed angrily, as if Bruce had actually offended him in some way.

Bruce watched the clowns retreating form for a mere four seconds before coming to a conclusion. One that was obvious he would regret.

"WAIT! Wait! Wait! Wait!" He pleaded, humiliated. "Don't you fucking leave me hear again!"

Joker stopped and held a chuckle, instead trying for a contemplative groan. "I don't know…you don't really seem like you wanna get out. I mean if you **really **wanted out, couldn't you just waltz through the automatic doors? You know, flash all the reporters that pretty little smile of yours? **You are Bruce Wayne after all**." His back to Bruce, the Joker smiled at that little tidbit of fact that he still relished in knowing.

_I am Bruce Wayne._

A sick feeling knot tied itself in Bruce's starving stomach, but not one of hunger. Leaving was more complicated than the other made it sound, far to complicated for Bruce to even think about contemplating. A quick scan of his limited surroundings gave him that extra surge of reassurance he needed.

_I am desperate._

"Not yet your not." The Joker chuckled in a low voice.

Bruce looked up in mild surprised. He had been doing that more often than he liked, speaking aloud to himself, voicing his thoughts. It was the only other sound in the large room other than the beeping and clicking of the machines around him.

"No." A pause as Bruce tugged lightly at his restraints. "Now get me the fuck out of here."

The Jokers eyes lit up and he turned and ran to the other mans bedside. "YIPPY!" He shouted in genuine happiness. "I thought you **hated **me! Wait till the kids find out, they'll be so happy to find out daddy isn't leaving!" He hugged Bruce's head.

"Daddy?" Bruce raised an eyebrow.

"I'm too sexy for masculinity." The Joker grinned slyly and began to undo the restraints around Bruce's chest and arms.

"I've seen you half naked, your not exactly model material." Bruce retorted with a calm that surprised even himself.

Joker frowned, then sneered much too playfully for the situation. "**Half **Batsy. Half."

Thanks the unknown item, which happened to be a simple drill, a matter of minutes was all it took to get the grateful billionaire standing on unsteady legs and struggling to yank on a pair of undersized briefs, probably the Jokers own as with the rest of the ensemble. After some heated arguing Bruce had managed to get him to turn around, allowing a small bit of privacy while he got dressed in the clothes his kidnapper had so graciously brought him. Tight black plum colored jeans, a dark green shirt two sizes too small, black lace up boots, no socks, a midnight blue light-weight trench coat and a thin fleece scarf colored blood red, with some actual blood stains on it.

"I look like a neo-Goth hooker." Bruce grumbled ungratefully.

Joker swung around and threw him a toothy grin. "Perfect! That scarf looks great on you! Now climb in the air vent so we can get out of here." He kneeled by said vent and removed the grille.

"What?"

"Don't make this harder than it has to. Get in the air vent." The Joker growled.

"I can't crawl into that thing! My ches- ah, m-my chest…" he drifted off, suddenly shaken.

"Your chest, **what**?" The murderer glared, threatening Bruce with his dark eyes. Daring him.

Bruce walked the short few feet to the duct and knelt down. "Nothing. The shirt's…the shirt's just a little tight." he lied softly.

Two hours later found the pair walking into an small unused ballroom, the building closed for the weekend. Bruce looked around and stopped by a locked grand piano, then turned a curious gaze back to his captor.

"Why didn't we go back to the warehouse?" He questioned warily.

The Joker was standing by the window, glaring distastefully at the dark clouds rolling in. He chuckled and closed the royal blue curtains, ones that had any lights been on would probably be very beautiful. "You **want **to go back their? 'Cause if that's the case I'll gladly storm a subway train and massacre every one on board." There was a glint in his eye that clearly added: _I'll do it too. _A chill ran up Bruce's spin at the thought and he quickly shook his head 'no'.

The jester sashayed, rather gracefully, to his hostage, a shrill giggle bursting from his throat. "As much as I'd uh, **love **to drag you to my den, it looks like we might have a little thunder storm on our paws. Can't go out in the rain can we?"

Bruce squirmed uncomfortably under the Jokers predatory gaze, him being only inches away from the other. "You don't like rain?" He asked, rather dumbly.

"Hate it. Love storms, hate rain." He side-stepped and slipped a hidden key from his pocket making short work of the lock on the piano.

"Now, since I don't have the proper tools or equi**pt**men**t**, were just going to have to make due with what we have." Bruce backed up a few paces to allow room for the Joker to work, not really knowing what to do otherwise. He watched as the man drew a short knife from his pocket and began working on the inside of the grand, exactly what he was doing was unknown the Bruce but he knew better than to ask.

"Hey, come 'ere," Joker beckoned after a short while fiddling. Bruce, unaware of his own actions, obediently ran to the madman's side and waited for the next instruction. Which he gave. "Take this and saw through those wires at the other end, not all the way though." Joker waited until Bruce was positioned at the other end of the piano, on opposite ends of the keyboard. "Now only cut the wires I say got it?" Bruce nodded and held the knife ready, the thought of stabbing the monster and escaping never once entering his abused mind.

"Every B, A, G and E on your side."

Bruce's childhood lessons aided in his task, otherwise he would have no idea which wires to cut. Why he was cutting them he still didn't know, and didn't bother to think about.

"NOT ALL THE WAY!" The Joker yelled angrily.

Bruce jumped and snatched his hand away from the wire he had almost sliced in half. "Sorry." He gasped out in surprised.

"Pay the fuck attention will ya!" The murderer threatened furiously. "B-sharp, D, C-flat, middle-C and the lowest G on your side."

Bruce sawed said wires and handed the jester his knife, which was promptly snatched from his hand leaving a small but painful cut on his index finger. He hissed at the sting but said nothing. Joker took a seat on the soft leather topped bench, black like the large instrument before it. He then removed his gloves, brushed his hair from his painted face, straitened out his suit and cracked his knuckles.

Without looking from the keys he gave Bruce his next command. "Strip."

"W-what?" Bruce asked, more shocked a the suddenness and inappropriateness of the command then the command itself.

"Don't fucking make me do it myself because I will **not **make it pleasant for you. Strip down to those tight little briefs and lay over the wires." He instructed, his tone dead serious.

Confused and frightened, Bruce stood stock still beside the piano, not knowing what to do. What would this accomplish? It didn't make any sense. He looked from the Joker to the keys to the wires over and over again, trying to put two and two together. Some how he kept ending up with five. Then he looked over the wires once more, in particular the one wire he had almost sliced through. It was straining, quivering with the stress the designer had provided. Bruce's eyes widened. A glance at the pianos hammers confirmed his fears.

With the right pressure, that wire could snap. Pressure its individual hammer could supply with the simple press of a key.

"No." Bruce whispered. "No, no please! Don't make me do that!" He backed away, his eyes glued to the pianos wires.

The Joker had already slipped his gloves back on, his hair falling back into his face that was twisted with sadistic fury. "You made me do this Brucey, you should've stayed put." He was walking towards him now, his head lowered, hands tightened into fists.

"**NO! **Don't do this! Please! Get away from me!" Bruce swung desperately at the madman, missing in his panic and landing him in a restrained position. His wrist was caught and shoved back into his neck, pinning him to the wall while his other arm had been pinned to his side.

"You look nervous. Don't worry, Uncle J is no pervert." He giggled manically. He grasped the bottom edge of the others shirt and yanked it up and off, removing the coat at the same time then shoved down the pants, only stopping when the toe of a boot connected with his groin.

"You ungrateful bastard." The psycho groaned, momentarily helpless and forced to watch as his toy ran out of sight, his pants disappointingly back around his waist.

*** * ***

"What do you mean 'He's gone'?"

"We've searched everywhere, he's not on hospital grounds!"

"How long have you been looking?"

"Three hours. Everyone's on lookout and we have every available member of staff doing continuous sweeps of the building and available security on the ground, nothings turned up."

"He got to him then?"

There was an uncomfortable pause.

"Worst case scenario? Yes."

*** * ***

"I'm sorry! I'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorry!" His words slurred together, his binds twisted his skin, a dark, burning dread ate away at his heart. Surly he didn't deserve this? The first few notes were played, a soothing melody. Beautiful and unfitting, it only fed the terror that built within him. The Joker merely hummed along to the tune, his eyes closed and a small smile playing at his lips.

"PLEASE! Don't do this! I've had enough, no more, **I CAN'T TAKE IT!**" Bruce screeched his pleas at the deranged maniac holding him prisoner, desperate to be freed from the psychotically twisted instrument that closet schizophrenics only dreamed about.

The Joker only hummed louder, played louder, the strain on the wires becoming stronger with each caressing note.

Bruce twisted his head to look below him at the guts of the piano, soon to be decorated with his guts he was sure. His eyes caught a single wire, tensing, quivering harder and faster than the rest. That one was sure to be the first to go, directly below his shoulders. The one he had over done. He closed his eyes and whimpered through his teeth, sweat dripping down his bare body, save for a thin pair of briefs that would do little to protect him from the threat.

He twisted in his binds, his ankles, knees, hips, elbows, wrists and head all securely tied down with thick cloth first, then rope. While he was being bound Bruce had briefly wondered if the Joker had purposely chosen theses spots, or if it was simply his newfound paranoid imagination combined with his cracking mind that had conjured up such a thought. The binds were tight and nearly cut off circulation everywhere, making the unbound parts of his body look a bruising red-purple, where blood was caught and struggling to pulse free.

A second passed and… "This could have been avoided." said a disembodied voice. Bruce had become dizzy but he was sure the Joker didn't sound like that. The voice was like syrupy blackening blood, thick and dripping compared to the Jokers own deep scratchy baritone. He had just begun vaguely pondering it but was interrupted. By a horrible burring slice to his shoulders and the sound of a missed key.

The wire snapped.

**Authors Notes**

There will never be a good enough excuse as to why I haven't updated for so long. It's a very large combination of time wasters.

Oh, and I am perfectly aware that you CANNOT cut piano wire like that, but I found having the pair use bulky, uncoordinated hand saws(that probably wouldn't cut it either) too complicated. Fly with me people.

I hope you enjoyed, and **please, please, please I am so sorry REVIEW!**

Love, Apologies, and Straightjackets,

Miz. Jynx


	10. A lesson to be learned

Disclaimer: I do not own the Joker or any of the characters in The Dark Knight. But I do own the plot in this story, SO DON'T STEAL IT!

Warnings: Profanity, blood, and cops.

_**Thoughts/Flashback**_

**Emphasis/Title**

"Talking"

**PREVIOUSLY**

_~A second passed and… "This could have been avoided." said a disembodied voice. Bruce had become dizzy but he was sure the Joker didn't sound like that. The voice was like syrupy blackening blood, thick and dripping compared to the Jokers own deep scratchy baritone. He had just begun vaguely pondering it but was interrupted. By a horrible burring slice to his shoulders and the sound of a missed key._

_The wire snapped.~_

**CHAPTER 8**

Bruce had little time to register what had happened. Hot sticky blood poured from the burning wound and into the grand, outside life went on in a storm and Bruce couldn't help but think 'this wasn't fair'.

"I'm really sorry! I'm really, really sorry!!" Bruce gasped out desperately as the wire slowly slid from the thin wound, slowed by his tightening muscles around it.

"_You should have stayed home."_

More notes were played, agonizing music filling the room and belittling the booming thunder outside. The song was played with little grace, a tad too fast than the composer had intended and wrong notes being hit regularly. It was hard to tell whether he was playing by ear or simply needed more practice, either way, Beethoven had turned over and wept in his grave chords ago.

"No your not. Not ye**t**." The Joker rasped passively, his fingers twisting and tripping over the keys in a poor display of skill. Bruce craned his neck to glance at the pianist, if you could call him that, but failed in doing so, only succeeding in pulling at his freshest wound and sending another hot wave of pain throughout his back. The piece reached a small crescendo and five tensing wires snapped in rhythm, each with a teeth clenching screech and whine followed by a loud snap.

It felt wet…and nasty. His back, thighs, and part of his arms were soaked with his own blood, dried and crusting over near the edges. The sick stench of wet copper filled his nose and mouth, he could taste it, he gagged on it. It was horrible, nothing he'd ever experienced or ever will experienced could come close to how painful and humiliating it was to lay there, over the gutted piano that was literally breaking at the seams.

Bruce lost count on how many times he had been whipped and sliced, heard a snap and tried to flinch. He felt sick, dizzy from the lack of blood, disgusted and angry at himself for not escaping when he had the chance. Why had he helped? Why hadn't he jumped at the opportunity to escape? Why had he accepted the knife so calmly and not **once **thought to use it to his advantage?

"_He would have made it worse."_

"No…" _God no… _His face was soaked with tears and blood, neither ceasing to end and dripped down the back of his head and neck. It was agonizing and unbearable, too much for anyone to stand and live through with their sanity intact.

_I'm going insane… _The thought drifted into his thankfully still intact skull through a pain induced haze, his head pounding with the effort to produce a coherent thought.

"_No you aren't. It's clear now, everything makes sense."_

_Lying… Your…lying…_

"_Everything is as it should be."_

It had taken long, too long before all of the intended wires had snapped and the song had been reduced to nothing more than a few mismatching keys being played every few seconds. Bruce had blacked out from the immense loss of blood, surly he would die now.

But has god ever been that merciful to him?

* * *

He woke up. His mind first, slowly trying to becoming aware of everything around him. Then his eyes shot open.

_Pain…_

It was all he could think. Blistering hot pain growing more agonizing by the second, what felt like liquid metal slowly sliding down his back and sides, down his neck and caressing his cheeks as it cooled.

_It hurts…so…much…_

His thighs felt like they were being stabbed with needles with each throb that was given by his now racing heart. He struggled to breath, his throat feeling as if it was clogged and closing up with each hot beat.

_Everything hurts…_

Everything. He couldn't breath, hands fighting against an unknown force to grab his throat, find some way to relieve the pressure that was building in his chest and the buzzing is his head.

_I want it to end… I want to live…_

Then a cool sensation shocked him out of his rising panic. It started at his lower back then rose to his shoulders and caressed his neck, down his arms then leaving only to return a breath later to his thighs and finally his calves. It was pleasant and calming, soothing and reassuring.

"_It's a lie."_

* * *

"Wakey, wakey Brucey." A smiling voice whispered.

"Nngh…" No, no he was much too tired, he wouldn't wake.

"Wake up, I have something for you. Heh ha…" Still whispering, soft, laughing, pleasant.

"I'm tired…" Mumbled, exhausted.

Something smooth and sharp smelling was lain over his face, waking him with its distasteful odor. Bruce cracked his eyes open and raised a heavy, too heavy arm and brushed the object from his face. The heap of paper slid off him and onto the soft fabric beside him where it continued to give off its freshly printed scent. Bruce had always hated the smell of newspapers. Abruptly his eye lids were pulled apart and he was forced to find himself staring into two curious dark green eyes.

"Wake up. If you sleep any longer I'll have to assume your dead." There was more of a sinister tone to his voice than previously, but it somehow retained its playful edge.

"Not dead, tired…cold." Bruce mumbled groggily and licked his lips. He lifted his still heavy feeling arms to push some hair from his face, now a bit long from the lack of grooming. Only smooth skin met his fingers when he felt for stubble. He had been shaven?

"Your so needy. Stop this, let me go, stop hurting me!" He mocked, but non-the-less grabbed the edge of the thin blanket and yanked it over Bruce's head.

Briefly fighting with the sheet, Bruce sat gradually sat up and leaned himself against the back of his make-shift bed which upon examination, turned out to be a couch. A very nice one at that. A quick glance to his left confirmed his suspicion, they were still in the ballroom. The curtains being the giveaway.

"What happened?" He mumbled groggily. He still felt tired and his tongue tingled within his bitter tasting mouth.

"Uhh, did you forget or are you just playing stupid?" The Joker scowled and clasped his hands behind his back, a slight glare forming in his gleaming eyes.

Bruce thought back, felt a eerie child run up his spin, and drew a blank. "No?" He answered with an uncertain frown.

"That doesn't exactly answer my question, smart one." The sadist rolled his eyes and plopped himself down on the dark blue leather couch beside Bruce and roughly slumped his arm over the others shoulders, a sick smirk cutting through his face at the others obvious discomfort.

"Read it." He nodded to the newspaper.

Without question, Bruce located the paper and set it on his lap, an eyebrow rising in curiosity at the headline.

**BRUCE WAYNE MISSING! JOKER SUSPECT!**

Bruce turned his questioning gaze at the Joker who only giggled and told him: "Keep reading"

**No hoax, Billionaire Playboy Bruce Wayne, Prince of Gotham has gone missing. He was last seen on Tuesday 18th by his butler Alfred Pennyworth who when questioned about Wayne's whereabouts only had this to say: "Where my charge goes is his business and his business only, but just this one time I wish I had asked." **

**Appearing at his mansions door three days later bloody and bruised gave Mr. Pennyworth a fright that will stay with him forever, but thankfully Commissioner Gordon was with him at the time and called 911 and almost instantly the battered billionaire was rushed to the hospital where he stayed a total of 2 nights 3 days before vanishing. **

**Suspicion and reputation points to the infamous Joker but has not been proven though some say the flaunting playboy set the entire thing up in what internet bloggers are calling: Bruce's Big Bermuda Bust-out!**** In which as the name suggests, the billionaire has used his billions to fly under the radar to Bermuda.**

Bruce stopped reading after that.

"Sooo what do ya think?" The clown chuckled.

Bruce scoffed lightly and glared at the other. "Bermuda? They think I'm in Bermuda?" He asked angrily.

"I know, your people are idiots."

"What do you mean **my **people?" Bruce asked in a low voice, afraid to raise it in the sadists presence.

"You protect them. Every night. No matter what. Even those big wig ritzy stiffs." He ran his hand through his victims soft hair, slightly greasy from neglect and yanked his head back. "You think their the good guys, that's why you protect them, that's why you saved them that night, you saved all of them." He kept his voice low, threatening, chilling.

Then he leaned across his captives' body and slowly curled his neck around the others. Bruce choked back a pained sob, his breath hitching when he felt the psychopath roughly nuzzle his neck and hissed when he leaned up and licked his stitches, slow and hard. It made him feel sick, disgusted at him and himself.

"All…except…**one**." he whispered.

Bruce groaned pushed past the pain in his head and tried to think of anyone he could've missed, anyone that could've made the papers the next day as the Jokers victim. He could think of no one, not a single person.

He had to ask. "Who?"

"Don't you remember? That girl? The skinny little bitch, heheha…" He voice had lowered to a soft rasp that gave Bruce goose bumps.

The other man, briefly noting he was covered in bandages, flinched at the memory and the cold anger that pulsed through him at the reminder. "Yeah?" He asked with a bit of spite in his tone.

He paused and pulled his head away before turning it to the other. He didn't seem to mind at all that they were completely face to face, both only a few inches from each other. "What was her name?"

Bruce forced himself not to gag on the foul hot salty smell that was the Jokers breath and shifted a bit under his tight hold of his shoulders. "Rachel. Her name was Rachel Dawes."

Joker chuckled humorlessly and ran the fingers of his free hand through his grimy green locks, pushing them back to expose his face and held them there. "Ya know…I really hated her."

Bruce balled his hands into fists, intending to attempt a threat at the sociopath, but it was short lived. The tension ran up his arms and into muscles and tendons in his back he didn't know existed, pulling at his deep running wounds. He bit back a groan of pain and let his body go slack.

The madman let a smile creep up his face as he watched his once great nemesis become limp against him, no doubt in his mind that this was the most fun he's had since he first smeared on the greasepaint. He slid his gloved hand from his hair and shook the locks back into place before letting that same hand slither under Bruce's chin and lightly grabbed his neck.

Bruce felt his head being lifted and uncomfortable pressure against his windpipe as he was forced to once again face his captor. His head felt heavy and he found himself wondering how the Joker was able to lift it so easily when he himself could not.

"If anything every happened to you…" He looked serious. "I'd be very bored." He was still serious.

And Bruce just couldn't help. "Why so serious?"

Jokers grip tightened and his lips twitched in a smirking grin. "Good question."

And Bruce just didn't bother. "I hate piano."

Joker released the others throat and instead began to prod at the gashes beneath the bandages. "I was never very good anyway."

And Bruce really didn't care. "Why do you hate people?"

The madman's eye twitched along with his fingers causing them to dig deeper into the wounds then intended. "I don't hate people." He stated firmly. "I hate what they do."

And Bruce was just to curious. "Is that why you hate me?"

Joker let his arm slid off Bruce's shoulders and stood up. He stepped before him and reached down with his right hand, sticky with blood from prodding at the fresh wounds, and slowly lifted the others bowed head, forcing him to meet his eyes.

"I hate **Batman**."

Bruce shook lightly, the pain in his gashes beginning to make him feel sick. "I'm not Batman." He whispered.

The wicked clown smiled. "Then I don't hate you."

And it was then that Bruce realized something. This man, this **creature **in front of him, so strong as to hold up his head heavy with guilt and confusion, was trying to teach him something.

_He doesn't want me to be Batman._

But that was very easy.

Bruce smiled.

"I'm not Batman."

The Jokers own smile grew. "I know your not."

They spent the next night in the buildings ballroom, Joker tending to Bruce's wounds with the care and caution of a mother wolverine. They snuck out the next morning when the scream of the woman who owned the place woke them, apparently she stumbled upon the piano whilst turning on the lights.

The Joker couldn't stop laughing.

**AUTHORS NOTES**

Neither can I, yikes. Joker's a manipulative bastard isn't he? Heh. I finished this chapter at...(checks time) jeez, 4:28am? Damn. I really liked writing this one, it makes me happy when Bruce is sad. :) Also I was listening to Marilyn Manson whilst writing this sooo....

**Oh! Can anyone guess the song Joker played?! **Guess right and I'll let the winner be a guest in the next chapter! You'll be killed but don't let that scare you away, you'll be killed by the Joker and I promise to make it nice and bloody. XD I'll even let you choose the 'object' from which you will be killed with! Be it a Battle Axe or squirrels teeth. 'Cause I can do that. XD

If more than one person guesses right I'll just make it more of a 'group therapy' kind of deal'. :)

Please **Review**!

Love and Straightjackets,

Miz. Jynx


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